


say something outrageous

by makiyakinabe



Category: Kekkaishi
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makiyakinabe/pseuds/makiyakinabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never did get <i>nii-san</i> to accept the invitation, in the end. Seeing as the other’s nose is finally out of those musty documents, though, he guesses everything worked out regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say something outrageous

**Author's Note:**

> Ougi Shichirou and Rokurou are Ichirou’s seventh and sixth brothers, respectively. Shichirou’s first appearance is in chapter 242, and Rokurou’s chapter 181.
> 
> If you haven’t read past chapter 121 of the manga/have only seen the anime, then I should probably warn you that the following fic includes a spoiler about Ichirou. As for why Ichirou hasn’t bestowed his very presence in the character tags list, well… that's probably because of chapter 244.

Shichirou is lounging on the sofa and scrolling through a text message when Rokurou _-nii-san_ all but shouts, “If you want to laze around, can’t you do it somewhere _else?_ ”

Instead of answering right away, he hums as he reads the message to the end, composes a reply and presses _send_. Then, flipping the phone shut, lifts his head to find Rokurou looking daggers at him. He sighs.

Four months have passed since he brought the otherback from the Night Troop headquarters, and if there’s one thing he’s learnt, it’s that there is just no pleasing _nii-san_. Not, of course, that it is for want of trying: he greets Rokurou whenever they pass one another in the halls; drops by his study whenever he can; and has offered, time and again, to help sift through the myriad tomes and documents left behind by Ichirou _-nii-san_ through Gorou- _nii-san_. It may be true that they haven’t started off on the right foot with one another—no, _re_ started off would be a more accurate description—but Shichirou has been nothing but cordial since.

Yet the damage has been done. For the first in a long time, he had a chance to improve Rokurou’s impression of him and not only did he pass it over, he made the impression even _worse_.

He can see the truth for what it is, now, the elation he had when the other agreed, albeit grudgingly, to stand in for him after the battle having long faded since. From the time of his return, Rokurou has made it more than clear that his image of Shichirou is one of a ticking time bomb. One which he would rather set off on purpose then let take him by surprise a second time, if the way he has of picking apart Shichirou’s words and throwing them back in his face is any indication—

Head shaking, Shichirou taps the topside of the phone to his chin as he meets the other’s eyes.

“Only if you promise to come to the cultural festival,” he says, in all sincerity.

Rokurou shoots him a nasty grin. “The future head of our clan, stooping so low as to using blackmail to get what he wants.” The expression disappears as soon as he turns his attention to the yellowing piece of document lying before him, in this way remaining wholly oblivious to the puppy-dog eyes Shichirou casts in his direction.

“Must you keep on twisting everything I say? Really, it’s not like I made any actual threats against your wellbeing—”

“Not only is your presence itself a nuisance, but I also have to put up with your useless prattle when anyone can see I’m up to my elbows with work. _How is it not a threat?_ ”

“—and I didn’t say you have stay for the whole day,” continues Shichirou, as though he didn’t just spend the past three seconds of his life getting shouted at. Slipping his phone into the pocket of his blazer, he lifts a hand so as to snaps fingers. “Speaking of which, _nii-san_ , have I told you about the takoyaki stall one of the first year classes will be running?” No sooner has the word _takoyaki_ been said than Rokurou’s eyes widen slightly, and for a second he can even see the other on the verge of taking back his words.

Then Rokurou ducks his head, pinning the document with a scowl.

Ichirou _-nii-san_ , if Shichirou remembers correctly, had been more of a kaiseki kind of person. Unless he and the other _nii-sans_ had developed a taste for fried octopus in their absence, the chances of them condescending to let it anywhere near their mouth—did Ichirou-nii-san even _have_ a mouth, post-spell?—were slim to none. Whatever the case, Rokurou- _nii-san_ has probably gone without the snack for quite a while now.

In a rush of generosity, Shichirou sits up and says, “I can ask them to sell you some at a nice discount—have them give you as much as you want free of charge, even. Well? What do you say?”

Rokurou’s eyes narrow. “I see our future head of clan resorting to underhanded bribery. Clearly you haven’t learnt a thing from whatshisname in all of ten years.”

“Shijima,” he says, ever-helpful, only to get glared at in return.

“I wasn’t asking.” Head turning to the side, Rokurou crosses his arms. “Why are you telling me all this, anyways? I have better things to do than play dress up and eat sweets made by complete amateurs.”

“They won’t be, I promise. If we can’t guarantee our guests food on par with that of an actual café, then we’d certainly have voted for something else.” Shichirou pauses, then lifts an eyebrow at the other. “Would _nii-san_ have preferred it if we chose to do a haunted house instead?”

Rokurou grits his teeth and stares determinedly at the wall. “If you’re expecting me to sing your praises and fork over enough money to fund a trip to Hokkaido, then forget it. You’d do better to ask that Shijima person. Or the maids. I’m sure they can find some time out of their busy schedules—” Here he lifts a hand, waves it in a circle— “to pay you a visit.”

Shichirou flops back onto the sofa and tries, with increasing difficulty, to keep a pout off his face.

The last time they met, Rokurou had looked at him from somewhere behind Ichirou _-nii-san_ ’s eyes—that is, assuming _nii-san_ even _had_ eyes—and let the other do all his talking for him. Rokurou may have returned for good, but nowadays he pays so much attention to their brothers’ belongings that it’s as though Shichirou is a child all over again. It’s not that Shichirou wants to relive their earlier arguments, or worse, thinks that he’s actually owed something, for all those years spent without seeing the other in the flesh—

But still. It’s been one full _decade_. Just because Rokurou ran away from home, threw in his lot with Ichirou- _nii-san_ and supposedly committed monstrous acts under the other’s orders doesn’t make him any less of an older brother. Surely leaving his desk for a mere hour or two would be no skin off his nose?

“With all due respect, _nii-san_ , I wasn’t.” Here Shichirou pauses, tilts his head as he waits for Rokurou to make yet another of his bitter comebacks. Finding none, Shichirou shrugs and casts a dubious glance at the wall himself. “All I ask is that you give at least _some_ thought about coming to our cultural festival. I’m not saying that you have to, but it’d be nice if you did. You don’t have to spend all your money at our café if you don’t want to. I can give you tea and cake on the house and once my shift’s over, I can show you around. And buy you as much takoyaki as you want—well, whatever you want, really. It doesn’t have to be food—”

Rokurou’s head snaps to him at once, teeth bared and hissing, “ _I don’t need your pity._ ”

“Pity?” echoes Shichirou, with the quirk of an eyebrow, then smiles and shakes his head. Running a hand through his hair, he continues, “All I’m asking for is a chance to spend some time with you. Away from Arashizaki, I mean. I understand just how important your work is to you, but still: surely you can’t keep carrying on like this? If you stay indoors all the time and do nothing but work, you’ll only run yourself into the ground one day.”

“That’s not what I meant,” says Rokurou, his voice lacking some of its usual vehemence. Then scowls and quickly turns his head aside, perhaps remembering that he’s supposed to be annoyed with Shichirou for some unknown reason. “I’m saying I don’t need your handouts. If there’s anything I want—be it takoyaki, tea or cake—I’ll get it myself.”

Shichirou makes a show of sighing louder than necessary and flinging an arm over his eyes, only to uncover one of them with a shift of his elbow. “Ah,” he murmurs, and what’s visible of his mouth curves upward. “Do you mean to suggest that if I let you buy your own food, you’d come?”

“If all you’re going to do is make fun of me then _stop bothering me and_ _go away!_ ”

The last few words are drowned out, first by the howling of the wind, then the sound of rustling as the papers on Rokurou’s desk scatter into the air. 

**Author's Note:**

> The bits about Rokurou’s and Ichirou’s favourite foods are made up. As is Rokurou’s incredibly important job (though gods forbid he ever finishes it).


End file.
